Falling for someone new can feel exhilarating.

The long texts, the spontaneous gifts, the breathless compliments—it all adds up to a heady cocktail of romance.

But sometimes, what seems like a dream come true is actually the opening act of manipulation.

Let’s revisit love bombing—a tactic often used by those with narcissistic or controlling traits to gain rapid influence over a partner through overwhelming affection and attention (Stines, 2017).

Unlike healthy romantic excitement, love bombing often feels too intense too fast, and leaves you emotionally dizzy.

Below are 7 subtle signs that may indicate you're not being adored—you’re being targeted.

Somewhere in the middle of the second champagne toast, just after Cousin Brian quoted Friends in his speech for no reason, and just before the band started in on “Don’t Stop Believin’,” you realized:

This wedding is not about love.

It’s about keeping the family from combusting long enough to get through a group photo.

There you are, dabbing at your sweat, trying to pretend this isn’t the first time your divorced parents have been in the same room in a decade.

Meanwhile, your sister is floating through the day in a Vera Wang dress, surrounded by florals and metaphors.

Everyone is smiling, including the ghosts.

Once upon a time, a kind Southern Baptist marriage counselor gave us a miracle. It had 5 parts, it came with a quiz, and it fit on a fridge magnet.

We called it The Five Love Languages.

You know the types.

• Words of affirmation.

• Acts of service.

• Receiving gifts.

• Quality time.

• Physical touch.

Chapman’s premise was simple: if we can just speak each other’s “language,” we’ll finally feel loved.

And like many simple ideas, it went absolutely feral in the wild.

From Owensboro barns packed with unridden bicycles to cloud drives overflowing with decades of “someday” emails, Kentuckians are skilled at holding on—both to things and to feelings.

On good days, that instinct is an art form: it protects heirloom quilts, handwritten recipes, and the emotional echoes of tent revivals and front-porch stories.

But on harder days, it slips into something heavier: hoarding.

Not just of physical objects, but of grief, regret, unfinished conversations, and the past itself.

The American Psychiatric Association now defines hoarding disorder as more than just clutter.

It becomes a clinical issue when the thought of letting go—of anything—triggers distress, panic, or even despair (American Psychiatric Association, 2023).

Whether it’s stacks of yellowing newspapers or unspoken resentments filed away in the mind, the struggle is real.

And often, emotional hoarding hides beneath the surface long before a family realizes what they’re up against.

If you’ve ever sat in a circle of adults who’ve lost a spouse, packed up their childhood home, survived their parents, or outlived their regrets—you know what emotional hoarding looks like.

It’s not about being broken. It’s about being full. Too full.

And like a suitcase with a busted zipper, it just doesn’t close right anymore.

That’s where the Eye of the Needle Ritual comes in.

Inspired by that famous Gospel mic-drop—"It’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God"—this group exercise invites people to imagine themselves as spiritual millionaires.

Not in gold or crypto, but in emotional inheritance.

Some of it earned, much of it imposed, and nearly all of it overdue for sorting.

Here’s how to run it like a pro therapist—or at least like a well-meaning soul with a clipboard and a knack for asking hard questions gently.

Let’s not sugarcoat this: Parenting in 2025 is already hard.

Now try parenting while your partner is cycling through depression, or struggling with panic attacks, or sobbing quietly in the bathroom while your kid finishes their math homework at the kitchen table.

You love your children. You love your partner.

But when the weight of mental illness seeps into your daily life like a fog that doesn't lift, you start asking yourself impossible questions:

“Should I tell them?”
“What if I say the wrong thing?”
“Are they already scared?”
“Am I failing them?”

Here’s the good news, friend: You are not failing.

You’re just in the thick of a very human story—one in which truth, care, and gentle honesty can do a lot more good than silence ever could.

By 2023, half of America was flying solo. And not just metaphorically.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 46.4% of American adults were single.

A record-breaking number—32% of women and 37% of men—had never married. That’s not just a blip. It’s a demographic moonwalk away from the altar.

So who are these long-term solo dwellers?

Are they independent spirits with excellent taste in throw pillows? Or is there something—psychologically speaking—that separates the coupled from the contentedly (or not-so-contentedly) uncoupled?

Turns out, personality may be part of the story.

The Moment Before the Kiss (Or Why Intimacy Isn’t What You Think)

Most intimacy theories feel like they were written by well-adjusted people in soft lighting.

You’ve got your Bowlby (1988), your Hazan & Shaver (1987), your Gottman ratios, your Perelian erotic mysteries. The usual suspects.

And to be fair, they’ve given us a solid foundation. Attachment theory tells us why we reach out—or run. Gottman gives us conflict blueprints.

Perel reminds us not to become our partner’s HR department.

But something’s still missing.

Not just in theory. In practice. In the actual counseling room.

In the couple sitting across from me—still technically married, still doing the dishes, still “working on communication,” and yet somehow lonelier than ever.

And what’s missing is this:

Most intimacy models assume people want closeness. But they forget how much effort goes into not drowning in it.

Which brings me to a theory I’ve started sketching in the margins of my session notes. Let’s jump in.

He Left the Milk Out. Again.

You’re furious. He’s stonewalling.

The fight escalates over toast crumbs, but what you're really arguing about is everything and nothing.

Welcome to the world of the neurotic love spiral—where small slights hit like betrayals, and reactions seem to come with surround sound.

A recent study in Sexual and Relationship Therapy suggests that people high in neuroticism aren’t doomed to unhappy relationships—but they are more likely to sabotage them with poor conflict habits (Lange et al., 2024).

And the fix isn’t fewer feelings. It’s fewer blowups.

You know the cliché: happy couples finish each other’s sentences, order the same sushi, and secretly share a Spotify playlist full of Fleetwood Mac.

Compatibility, we’re told, is about similarity—same interests, same values, same neurotic love for seasonal throw pillows.

But a massive new review just dropped a wet towel on that fantasy.

According to a scoping review of 339 studies published between 1937 and 2024, actual similarity between long-term romantic partners has only a modest and inconsistent connection with relationship satisfaction or longevity (From et al., 2024).

Let that sink in. Hundreds of studies. Eighty-seven years of data.

And the results? Meh.

Let’s be clear: you didn’t marry an idiot.

You picked a smart, capable, emotionally literate adult who could write a killer project proposal and survive on three hours of sleep.

Then the two of you had a child. Or adopted one. Or inherited one through some divine act of chaos.

And that child? That gloriously complex, emotionally intense, maybe-autistic, maybe-ADHD, possibly-undiagnosed enigma?

They changed everything.

Now your evenings are tactical response drills, your weekends are therapy spreadsheets, and the person you built your life with is starting to feel like a colleague. Or worse, a critic.

Welcome to parenting conflict in high-functioning couples raising neurodivergent kids.

The data is clear, the stakes are high, and the fallout can feel like a slow-motion divorce.

In an age of algorithmic romance and scheduled spontaneity, the real magic of lasting intimacy doesn’t come from grand gestures, luxury getaways, or matching tattoos.

It lives in ordinary moments—carved with intention, tempered with steadiness, and infused with focused attention.

Let’s dig into what truly sustains long-term desire and connection according to thought leader Esther Perel.

These six so-called "secrets" aren’t techniques—they’re postures of the nervous system, of the heart, and yes, occasionally of the gaze.